This story is about me. Only me. It’s about my ego and insecurities and fears and needs.
I typically write what I think might be useful for others to know and understand, but this is different. It’s more like a diary entry. A confessional. A cry of frustration.
It’s the sort of thing I would address to a wife or partner or trusted companion — if I had a woman in that role. It’s my half of a conversation which I would need to have with someone who loved me and believed in me and was permanently a part of my life.
So this probably isn’t for you.
I’m struggling right now. In many ways, things are the best in my life that they’ve been for at least 20 years. I have stability and purpose again. I know where I want to go. I’m more clear about my values and my priorities than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m struggling with the gap between how things ought to be and the reality I see in front of me. And that gap terrifies me — because nobody lives forever.

‘Run away with me?’ I couldn’t accept her offer, but I wanted to
We often live in the tension between known and unknown
This is my private confessional; the truths I write often scare me
Just give us fake, happy smiles; who wants to hear your feelings?
Please read this: If you love books and smart women, you might cry, too
I used to ponder who I really am; today I just ask who I am for now
What if emotional baggage we carry isn’t really our core issue?
World has become a freak show, but we’re not supposed to notice
How can we be lonely while we’re surrounded by billions of people?